


Scars

by squintly



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, holy shit angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squintly/pseuds/squintly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ending and all Hux can think about is Kylo Ren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

The world was ending and all Hux could think about was Kylo Ren.

 

As they followed his tracking beacon into the snow-covered woods, the ground cracked and split, vast fissures opening into the turbulent core of the dying planet. _This is his fault_ , Hux thought. _He did this_. If he'd killed the girl, destroyed the droid, none of this would have happened.

 

The shuttle set down between some trees, earth already shaking beneath it as Hux lead the small cadre of Stormtroopers towards Ren's still body. For a moment Hux allowed himself to hope the man was dead. Unfortunately, Ren was still very much alive, staring straight up with pain-dulled eyes and breathing hard. A long burn raked down his face and bright crimson blood stained the snow. Apparently Ren was even more incompetent than he thought.

 

"Take him," Hux ordered without bothering to disguise the disgust in his voice.

 

Ren groaned when they lifted him, struggling mindlessly as they carried him into the shuttle and deposited him on a sideboard. One of the troopers began cutting away his clothes to expose his wounds and Ren shoved him hard, sending him tumbling back into his fellows and leaving long red lines down his breastplate.

 

"Ren!" Hux snapped.

 

Ren snarled at him, glare feverish and wrathful. " _Let me die._ "

 

Hux's palm cracked against the side of Ren's face. Shocked, Ren fell back, quiet long enough for the accosted trooper to jab a sedative into Ren's thigh. As the needle went in Ren hissed, raising a hand to crush the poor man's windpipe, but even as the trooper raised a hand to his throat Ren's dropped, his eyes fluttering shut as the drugs took hold.

 

Hux took a deep, steadying breath. "Don't bloody tempt me."

 

\--- --- --- --- ---

 

Leaving Ren to the _Finalizer'_ s medtechs, Hux began the long and thankless task of shepherding the First Order's scattered forces. The exodus from Starkiller Base had sent hundreds of ships rocketing into space, in all directions and with no flight plan other than _away_ , each carrying dozens of panicked officers and soldiers and techs. Each one had to be contacted, given a rendezvous point and in a depressingly high number of cases badgered into actually showing up. And then there were the internal logistics; the _Finalizer_ wasn't designed to support so many people for so long, and adjustments had to be made to life support, bunk assignments, rations allocation. Every decision needed to be made _now_ and when his communicator beeped alert after alert from the infirmary, Hux ignored them.

 

When the medtech arrived, he was leaning over a holographic image of the surrounding systems, trying to decide which were the least likely to attack them if they stopped to resupply. He didn't see her at first, but when Lieutenant Mitaka cleared his throat he glanced up and his gaze stuck. A large portion of her frizzy black hair had escaped its bonds and there was a partial handprint on her shoulder, vivid red and smeared.

 

"General," the tech said with a traumatized calmness that did not bode well. "Your attention is needed."

 

Hux did not allow himself the luxury of a sigh. "Lieutenant, when I return I want the five best options analysed and plotted."

 

"Yes, General," Mitaka said. Hux was already halfway out the door.

 

"He refused treatment," the tech – Talsin, 29, employee number MT-4301219 – informed him as they walked. "And he hurt an aide quite badly."

 

The infirmary was in chaos, the cordoned-off bays filled with injuries major and minor and patients spilling over into the spaces in between, some curled on the floor in hyperventilating heaps and others staring dead ahead as if their skulls had been split open and their brains excised. Ren had been given a room of his own, the frosted glass separating it from the rest of the infirmary now spider-webbed with cracks. The door slid open with a hiss and Hux strode inside.

 

The polymer table was bare but for a smeared pool of blood and medical tools lay scattered across the floor. In the corner, naked and glowering with his knees pressed to his chest and his fingers digging at the wound in his side, was Ren.

 

"Really?" Hux deadpanned. "Huddled on the floor like an animal. Is nothing beneath you?"

 

Ren glared up at him with dull angry eyes. "You _drugged_ me."

 

"That's what happens when you attack the people trying to save your life."

 

"I didn't want to be saved!"

 

"Please," Hux scoffed. "No-one has the time or energy for your pathetic rathtar tears. Let the medtechs treat you, stop bloody hurting them, and let the rest of us get along with our day."

 

Scowling, Ren turned his face away. He'd gouged a significant amount of medigel out of his wound and it was beginning to bleed again, tinted pink from the vaguely opalescent jelly. The burn on his shoulder had split as well, and the blood ran rivulets down his arm. Hux rolled his eyes.

 

"If you truly want to die, die," he said, kicking a surgical saw into Ren's corner. "I'll inform Supreme Leader Snoke that you were too weak to survive an encounter with a traitor and an untrained girl and we'll all move on with our lives free of the continued burden of your existence. Honestly, Ren, did you think we would forgive your transgressions because of _this?_ You really are pathetic."

 

Ren said nothing. Something about the rising cast of his shoulders caught Hux's attention and he stepped around the polymer table. Ren tried to turn his face completely towards the wall, but he couldn't hide the ugly flush of his cheeks or the tears streaming down his face.

 

A thousand mocking insults sprang to Hux's mind. _Coward. Milksop. Weakling._ He said none of them, and was not entirely sure why. After a long moment of watching Ren's shoulders silently shake Hux turned and walked away.

 

Talsin gave him an odd look as he passed, and it was only after he stood alone in the corridor that he realized he was trembling.

 

\--- --- --- --- ---

 

He didn't sleep that night. Ship after ship poured in, many with more passengers than they'd reported and only a few with less. New arrangements had to be made. He appropriated a subsidiary mess hall to act as triage, if only to get the flood of panic attacks and psychosomatic reactions out from under the medtech's heels. A rec room became a dormitory, then an improvised brig as fights began to break out. Psy reports piled in, and after the twentieth Hux stopped reading them. They all said more or less the same thing.

 

It was quarter to five when Talsin edged into the command center. She'd brushed back her hair and put on a new coat, but there was a hollowness to her dark eyes and a pallor to her mahogany skin. "Apologies, General. He has allowed us to treat the burns, but continues to aggravate the stomach wound."

 

"Thank you," Hux said, mildly annoyed at her lack of discretion. The entire command crew did not need to know about Ren's antics. "Give me a moment."

 

Talsin bowed her head and went to wait in the corridor.

 

Some manner of order had been restored to the infirmary; most of the patients had beds, and those that didn't at least had chairs. The crack in the glass hadn't been repaired, but the scattered medical equipment had been set to rights. And Ren, almost to Hux's surprise, had deigned to lay on the table. They'd inclined it slightly and given him a sheet to cover his lower half. His hand lay over the wound in his side, red slicking his curling fingers and running down the curve of his hip to soak into the sheet.

 

"Could he conceivably kill himself like this?" Hux asked Talsin as if Ren wasn't lying right there.

 

"It is highly unlikely," Talsin replied, bowing her head. "He would lose consciousness long before sustaining permanent damage."

 

"So what he is doing is entirely pointless."

 

"As a method of suicide, yes."

 

"Thank you." Hux waved her away. "Having thoroughly established that you do not want nor are attempting to kill yourself, may I politely ask what the fuck you think you're doing?"

 

Ren didn't reply, rolling onto his bandaged shoulder and turning his back on Hux. His skin was crisscrossed with old scars, not nearly as many as Hux had imagined, interspersed with dark moles.

 

"Is this meant to be some misguided act of contrition? Ren the martyr, suffering for his sins?"

 

Again, Ren said nothing. His fingertips tugged at the edges of his wound, keeping it from closing, keeping it raw and wet. He did it almost idly, like a tic, just a pattern for his fingers to follow while his mind occupied itself with other things.

 

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep. Perhaps after all the negotiating and badgering and cajoling he didn't have any diplomacy left. Perhaps his hatred for the petulant, ignorant man finally hit a boil. It didn't really matter.

 

"Do you think you have a monopoly on pain?" Hux suddenly snapped. "Decades worth of labor just went up in flames, hundreds are dead, everything I ever built destroyed in a matter of _minutes_ and all _on my watch_! Do you think I don't care? Do you think you're the only one who wants to curl up in a corner and die? We are _all_ upset. But we have work to do, we have _responsibilities_ , and so we go about our lives as if it doesn't take everything we have not to jettison ourselves from the nearest airlock, as if we aren't afraid to sleep, as if this isn't some, some kind of inconceivable nightmare, some cruel cosmic joke! We _maintain control,_ because _control is all we have left._ So enough of the bloody self-pity! You're a grown man! Act like it!"

 

If the door could have slammed, Hux would have slammed it.

 

Pacing down the halls on the edge of running, he ignored the looks and the questions and his heart racing in his chest. His breath came fast and hard and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

 

When he reached his quarters he locked the door, sat on the edge of his bed, pressed a pillow against his face and screamed. He screamed until his voice broke, until his throat burned, until he could taste copper. He leaned forward, head almost on his knees, clutching fistfuls of his own hair. He felt sick. If he'd eaten anything in the last forty-eight hours he would have vomited.

 

It was gone. All of it. And it was his fault. He'd failed. He'd failed his commander, he'd failed his men, he'd failed himself. His father would never have allowed any of this to happen. His father would have spotted the traitor before his treason could take root. His father wouldn't have allowed the First Order to be defeated by a rag-tag band of misfits and freaks.

 

He couldn't run from it anymore. He was a weak, incompetent fool. And as his father had told him so many times, weakness was inexcusable.

 

But he had responsibilities. He had obligations. The fleet needed to be organized, Ren had to be delivered, someone had to be in charge. If the crew were demoralized now, his untimely end would throw them into utter chaos.

 

So he would wait. He could do that.

 

Eventually Hux fell into a shallow, fitful sleep. Planets flared into suns. Dark ground sundered and spat fire into an uncaring sky. Stormtroopers stood row on row, some of them monsters with no way to tell how many or which. Ren sat curled in the corner, dripping with blood, the knobs of his twisted spine grotesque in the harsh white light. Then his communicator beeped, and he sat up in bed, and showered and dressed because he had responsibilities. He had work to do.

 

If anyone noticed the harshness to his voice, none of them said a word.

 

\--- --- --- --- ---

 

Talsin did not come for him. So he went to her. She stood beside him as he stared at the cracked glass, describing Ren's progress in a mechanical, detached tone that echoed the way Hux felt. What did it matter if the wound in Ren's side had finally closed? The world had ended, they were in hell and they all would have been better off dead.

 

Eventually, Talsin had no more to tell him, so after a long moment of strange emotionless silence, Hux went in. Ren looked up at the sound of the door. He was eating cereal.

 

"I hate you," Hux said blankly.

 

Ren didn't bother to swallow. "I know."

 

He looked better. Not just the returning color to his skin, or the clarity in his eyes, or the loose white shift they'd given him. He looked _better_.

 

Crunching on another mouthful, Ren spoke, voice light and simple as it had ever been. "It's going to be okay."

 

Hux hadn't cried since he was four years old.

 

Kylo said nothing.

 

\--- --- --- --- ---

 

They arrived at the heart of the First Order three days early. When Hux came to collect him, Ren was bathed and dressed and kicking his heels. When he stood, his wounded leg buckled under him and Hux caught him. He smelled like soap and blood and fire. By the time they reached the shuttle, Ren didn't need Hux's help, but he kept his arm wrapped around Hux's shoulders regardless.

 

When Ren emerged from Supreme Leader Snoke's cavernous dark chamber, he was pale again, drained, limping even with most of his weight on Hux. The rooms Hux had been assigned were closer. Ren didn't ask where they were going, and when Hux palmed open the door he didn't seem surprised.

 

Ren slept sitting up, Hux's head on his stomach and fingers threaded through Hux's hair. Occasionally they twitched as if tugging at his wound. Despite his exhaustion, Hux fought to stay awake. This was by far a better dream than any he was likely to have.

 

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he remembered waking up, Kylo's lips on his forehead and his deep voice murmuring reassurances. The dream vanished and Kylo was kissing him, or he was kissing Kylo, as if it mattered. As if any of it mattered. Ren hissed as Hux pulled off his shirt and Hux pressed kisses to every inch of him he could find.

 

Afterwards they lay naked and slick with sweat and come, Ren staring straight up and breathing hard. Hux kept his palm on Ren's heartbeat as it slowed. He still wasn't quite sure this was real. Eyes fixed on the healing wound in Ren's side, he waited for Ren to pull the trigger, reveal that this was all some tasteless joke, some creative new scheme to humiliate him. It never happened.

 

"What are we doing?" Hux asked eventually, breaking the long silence.

 

Ren stretched and yawned. "I have no idea."

 

"I hate you."

 

Ren just hummed.

 

After another long moment, Hux shifted, propping himself up on one arm. "What do you mean, 'you have no idea'? Is that your way of saying you regret—"

 

"No," Kylo said, pulling him down for another long kiss.

 

\--- --- --- --- ---

 

Two days later Ren woke up screaming, babbling something about someone falling and how it was all his fault, he should have been stronger, it shouldn't have hurt so badly but it did. Hux wrapped his arms around Kylo's shoulders and ran his hand down his spine while he sobbed. The night after that Hux had the trooper dream again and Kylo sat up with him the rest of the night, going through all the psy reports he'd ignored looking for the slightest hint of deviance. Before he left, Kylo kissed his cheek like a child and told him everything was going to be alright.

 

"How do you know?" Hux asked him, wiping at his cheek as if Ren had left a mark.

 

"I don't," Ren replied as he flopped back onto their bed. "I don't want you to yell at me again."

 

Hux almost laughed.

 

\--- --- --- --- ---

 

It didn't get easier. But Hux got used to it. He went through the daily motions of life, of duty, polishing his shoes and flipping through documents and pretending he didn't want to shoot himself. He organized a new offensive, spending hours staring at holograms and battle plans and readouts before collapsing into Ren's arms, never giving himself more than a handful of moments to think.

 

Ren healed. His wounds became scars, like all the others, tracing new patterns over his skin. Occasionally he would come back with a new bruise and refuse to speak for hours, sometimes even days, lying sullen in their bed until Hux physically dragged him to his feet, badgering him the way he'd badgered the would-be deserters until it was easier for Ren to bathe and eat and trundle off to train than endure Hux's lectures. On one occasion Hux went too far and found himself pinned against the wall with invisible hands, gasping for breath as Kylo tugged down his pants. Hux never called him worthless trash again, although now and then in the dark quiet hours of the night he was sorely tempted.

 

It didn't get easier. But they got stronger. Leaning on each other, they could carry the weight neither could take alone.

 

And so time passed. And one evening as Hux lay out the next day's uniform, he realized a full twenty-four hours had passed since he last wished he were dead.

 

"You were right," he told Ren as he slid into bed beside him.

 

"Obviously," Ren replied, slipping an arm around his waist. "What are you talking about?"

 

Hux smiled into Kylo's skin, smelling soap and blood and fire. "Everything's going to be alright."

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently when I try to write philosophy I end up with porn, and when I try to write porn I end up with angst and vague artsy-fartsy sex scenes. I'm sorry. I have failed you. *goes and cries in a corner ala EVERYONE FUCKIN' APPARENTLY*


End file.
